At the edge of supremacy lies the vices of liberty. Sixteen inches apart braids the moist burden. A hook in the gestures proclaim recklessness. Delicacy with the pride conjure a dusty weather. Eight inches apart renders the reign of fulfilment. A halfway greet to responsibility treasure guilty. Hailing out to imagination vaccum the moist off field. Four inches apart weaves a land of creativity. A yearn for a catcher discovers redemption. Trespassing through the edges disgrace the facets of art. The power lies barren on the field. Hear the voice of solace through the catcher. At the edge lies the land of resurrection.
P. S.:- Inspired by many readings of "The Catcher in the Rye" by 'J. D. Salinger'.